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I know nothing about her, not even her name. Maybe I shouldn’t have put so much effort into ignoring her over the last few months. Too late to worry about that now. She’s too clean cut and prim. She probably won’t like the places I frequent. Anyway, in her state, she doesn’t need loud music or creepy men leering at her.
I pull out and drive to a nearby brewhouse. It’s basically a chain restaurant with decent drinks and food. She needs that most. And company. I’m not thrilled at the prospect of being said company. My plans for the night have already been ruined. What’s one more inconvenience?
She says nothing on the drive, nor does she comment when we pull up to the brewhouse. She silently unfastens her seatbelt and opens the car door. Then she trails behind me as we enter the restaurant. The hostess is chatty, telling us that it’s happy hour for a few more minutes before listing all of today’s specials. I barely listen, focused on the girl behind me who seems half catatonic.
“Are y’all celebrating anything special?” the hostess asks, clearly mistaking us for a couple.
“Just a night out,” I say with a curt smile, accepting the menus she holds out.
She leaves us be while we wait for a waiter to come take our order. Not many people are here on a weeknight. It’s early, but it’s off season. This place is probably packed with tourists in season. I assess the tacky décor and the neon signs hanging above the bar.
Rise and Rosé, reads one.
Tequila o’ Clock, reads another.
I roll my eyes and turn my attention toward the sticky plastic menu. I flip through it to find an array of burgers and sandwiches. My stomach grumbles loudly. I actually am pretty hungry. The girl looks up at me and snickers. I chuckle too, caught up by the ridiculousness of the entire night. Two hours ago, I was about to follow my conquest of the night into a bathroom for a dirty romp. Now, I’m sitting at a family-friendly restaurant with a girl whose name I don’t know.
“I’m thinking about a burger.” I’m unable to think of anything more interesting to start a conversation.
“That sounds good,” she answers quietly, speaking for the first time in fifteen minutes. “They have these huge strawberry margaritas here. That sounds really good right about now.”
I wrinkle my nose as I flip to a picture of said margarita. It’s frilly and girly, something I would never be caught dead ordering. But this meal isn’t about me. She needs to calm down. If this disgusting looking drink will help her, so be it.
“How about some food to go with it?” I suggest. “Whatever you want, it’s on me.”
My words surprise me. I didn’t mean to offer to pay, but I feel badly for her. I dragged her here. The least I can do is pay for her dinner. I can’t remember the last time I offered to buy a girl a meal. Sure, I’ve ordered takeout after a long night of sex, but that was just as much for me.
“The salmon looks good.” Her eyes are trained on her menu.
Of course she thinks that. She’s a dance teacher, probably a health nut. She has a body that alludes to carefully counted calories and hours of exercise every week. Not that I’ve been looking at her body. That isn’t the point of this interaction. Maybe under different circumstances.
A young, overly cheerful waiter comes to take our order. I order a bourbon with my burger. A real drink. Once he’s gone with the menus, we have nothing to look at or focus on. We awkwardly sit across from each other, staring at our hands.
“Shit,” I say. “I didn’t ask your name.”
“Melissa.” She doesn’t look at me.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Melissa.” I feel slightly absurd saying that.
“Imagine what happens when you stop ignoring people,” she says, meeting my eyes. A look of fiery determination shines in her eyes, as if her earlier experience shook something loose in her. “You’ve only seen me once a week for the last few months.”
Her tone takes me by surprise. Irritation drips from her words. I wonder if the feeling is meant for me, or if her brain is now processing what happened earlier. I decide I can take her frustration if it means she’ll calm down enough to take care of herself.
“A lot of teachers work at the center. Too many people to get to know.”
“We all know each other,” she argues. “And we all know about you. Well, we know your name, at least. Apart from that, you’re the subject of a lot of rumors.”
She surprises me again. I’m suddenly very curious. Never once have I considered what the teachers at the center think about me. Now I’m dying to know. I wonder what she thinks about me.
“Please, do tell,” I prod.
She tells me the rumors about Meredith and I having an affair, which makes me laugh harder than I have in ages. I can’t wait to tell Graveyard. He’ll probably want to punch me in the face, but he knows better. I’ll kick his ass if he thinks about it. She also shares a rumor that I’m connected to the mafia, which I guess isn’t too far from the truth.
“What’s your opinion?” I ask her boldly, realizing her defenses are down.
“You’re obviously attractive.” She gestures toward my face. “But you don’t seem to care about anyone else. It’s like no one else exists at the center except for Meredith. I guess that’s why everyone thinks you’re sleeping together.”
I laugh again, glad our drinks haven’t arrived yet, because I’d definitely spit mine out. When they come, I take a long sip of my bourbon, letting the heat coat my throat and fill my stomach.
